


Grateful

by alynwa



Series: Song Stories [17]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The prompt is the song "Sound and Vision" written and performed by David Bowie.  Lyrics are after the story.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Grateful

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt is the song "Sound and Vision" written and performed by David Bowie. Lyrics are after the story.

_I have not spoken in three days. There just does not seem to be anything to say. So I lie here quietly, living in the solitude within my own mind, allowing myself to wander through all its corridors. Whenever I feel like I am running out of places to go and I start feeling confined and panicky, I focus on my right hand and my breathing. My sense of touch tells me my right hand is being held and my sense of smell tells me it is Napoleon who is holding it._

_I think I know where my body is; I am lying in room three in the UNCLE Medical Unit, the blue room that Napoleon once teased me that the walls match my eyes. My eyes that are now covered in bandages, bandages that also wrap around my head to cover my ears._

_I do not remember exactly what happened to me. I do remember being with Napoleon; we were on a mission in…New Jersey? I think? I, we were on the trail of a high – level THRUSH that Intel had traced to a safe house in…New Jersey, I am sure of it. I remember searching the house after Napoleon said we were too late, the bird had flown the coop. We were looking to see if we could find any clues to where he had gone when Napoleon started screaming for me to get out, the house was booby – trapped. There was a very loud sound and a very bright flash and I remember flying. And now, I am here. And it seems like I have been for a very long time._

“How is he, Mr. Solo?”      

Napoleon startled at the sound of Mr. Waverly’s voice. “I’m sorry, Sir, I must have drifted off,” he mumbles as he makes himself come awake. “Ah, his condition is improved, Sir. The smoke inhalation is eased, his color is much better, he’s no longer unconscious. He sleeps and his appetite is good, though it’s not up to its usual Illya standards.”

“Has he spoken to you?”

“Ah, no. When Dr. Jameson removed all the bandages and he couldn’t see or hear, he said so and then he closed his eyes and shut down.”

The Old Man harrumphed and took a seat on the room’s only other chair. “Mr. Solo, while I understand completely your desire to remain by your partner’s side, it has been four weeks since Mr. Kuryakin was admitted and your CEA duties have been neglected long enough.”

“But, Sir…”

Mr. Waverly continued as if Napoleon had not spoken. “At first, your presence was necessary. A deaf and blind Mr. Kuryakin is still a very dangerous man and when he was brought out from under sedation, having you there probably kept the medical and nursing staff in good health. But he knows he is at UNCLE now and though Dr. Jameson is confident he will regain all his senses, there is no timetable for it to happen. In the meantime, life goes on, Mr. Solo. I need all of your overdue reports on my desk by close of business tomorrow.”

“I understand, Sir. I do, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Ill…Mr. Kuryakin alone. I believe he’s depressed.”

Mr. Waverly stood and Napoleon stood with him. “So does Dr. Jameson,” he said as he tapped on the room door, which opened immediately to reveal April. “That is why I have asked Miss Dancer to keep him company while you attend to your duties.”

Napoleon’s face brightened up when she entered the room. “April! It’s good to see you!”

“Same here, Dar er, _Mister_ Solo. Mark is working on our mission report and should have it to you this afternoon. Don’t worry about Illya, I’ll take good care of him.”

_Something is different. The air smells different and the hand holding mine feels smaller, softer. Oh, this is April! Napoleon had to leave. He is a good partner._

_April. What if my sight and/or my hearing never return? I would have to stop seeing her._ He snorted when he realized what he had thought, causing the woman holding his hand to turn and stare at his face intently. _Poor choice of words, Tovarisch Kuryakin. I would stop dating her. I care for her too much to saddle her with an invalid and I refuse to let her pity me._

“Illya? What was that noise for; what are you thinking?” April whispered to him. She didn’t expect a response and when she didn’t get one, she began to speak to him as she rubbed his arm with her free hand. She told him about the affair Mark and she had just completed, what she was wearing, what she had eaten. She babbled on for more than an hour just to hear herself talk.

 _What is that? It feels like some kind of low level hum. Nyet, that is not quite right. Bozhe moy! It_ sounds _like a low level hum!_ He squeezed April’s hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry.

April was stunned. “Illya!” she exclaimed as she reached for the ice chips in the pitcher on the table. Putting some on a spoon, she gently pushed his lower lip down so that he cold lap some into his mouth.

Sucking on them gratefully, he dissolved them and said in the oddly muffled voice that hearing impaired people have, “I hear something.”

“That’s wonderful, Darling!” she cried as she pushed the call button, “You’re coming back!”

From that point forward, Dr. Jameson, Napoleon and April began to see a slow, but steady physical improvement in the Russian. When his hearing was tested after April reported he had spoken, it was determined that he had regained his lower register hearing and as time went on, he was beginning to hear higher tones again.

Dr. Jameson checked his sight a week later and Illya had been able to see shadows. Every week, his vision was checked and there was always improvement, no matter how slight.

“I’m predicting, cautiously, that Agent Kuryakin’s sight and hearing will be close to his normal within six to eight weeks,” Dr. Jameson said during his bi – weekly report to Mr. Waverly. Normally, the meeting would be just the two men, but the doctor had asked Napoleon to join them. “I am concerned, however, about his frame of mind. Except for test taking, he still has not really spoken.” He turned to look at the CEA. “Knowing how he is, it would be a waste of the Psych Unit’s time to assign someone to him, but both Dr. Francois and I feel it is imperative that he tells _someone_ what is going on in his head.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“Indeed, Mr. Solo,” Mr. Waverly chimed in, “We know that your partnership with Mr. Kuryakin has developed over time into a true friendship. If Mr. Kuryakin is ever going to be emotionally fit to return to duty, that friendship is going to be his path.”

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

Dr. Jameson smiled. “Your partner is anxious to be discharged, as you well know. I want to discharge him to your care. Mr. Waverly has agreed to put you on administrative leave so you can look after Mr. Kuryakin.”

Napoleon was shocked. “Ah, thank you, Sir. That’s very generous.”

“UNCLE has invested a great deal of time and money in your partner, Mr. Solo. It would be a shame for it all to go to waste. If he can no longer be a field agent, I need him fit enough to work as a scientist. Either way, both Drs. Jameson and Francois think you are the only person who can get through to him, with the possible exception of Miss Dancer, but since my top team is down, she and Mr. Slate have had to pick up the slack. They have been taking the assignments I would normally give to you and Mr. Kuryakin and they have been mostly successful. I have apprised them that they will be sharing the CEA duties until further notice.”

Napoleon was still a bit stunned by Mr. Waverly’s words and how smoothly he had let it be known that he was aware of Illya and April’s relationship. “Thank you again, Sir.” Turning back to Dr. Jameson he said, “Of course, Illya can stay with me. We’ve made a habit, as you know, of getting out of Medical as soon as humanly possible and recuperating under each other’s care. What do you need me to do differently?”

“You have to get him to talk, Napoleon. And I don’t mean about the weather. I mean about what’s going on in his head and his heart. He has suffered very traumatic injuries, not just to his body, but to his psyche as well. Those injuries need to be addressed and healed, too. I believe you’re the one to do it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

That had been a week ago and Napoleon was worried. Despite Illya regaining most of his hearing so quickly that Dr. Jameson had amended his original prognosis, Illya was still uncommunicative. He spoke to Napoleon more than to anyone else, but it was all just glittering generalities; good morning, good night, I’m fine, yes, no and thank you. The rest of the time, he sat in his room listening to jazz playing softly on the hi – fi.  

“Hey, Illya? I’m going to bed. You want anything?” he called as he moved down the hall to stand in front of Illya’s door. It was actually his guest room, but since the Russian was the only person who ever stayed in it, he considered it Illya’s room.

His partner was listening to Sonny Rollins as he sat up in bed. He no longer had to wear bandages across his eyes; the darkly lensed sunglasses perched on his nose were sufficient to keep out light. His eyesight was somewhere around 20/100 which was a huge improvement considering he had been temporarily blind. The ophthalmologist who was treating him was extremely pleased and very optimistic about his progress. “No, thank you, Napoleon. I am fine. Goodnight.” He had barely lifted his head to say it. The album finished playing, the needle lifted and returned to its cradle and still Illya sat propped up against the headboard, hands clasped together and looking so forlorn that Napoleon couldn’t stand it.

On impulse, he entered the room, pulled back the covers and slid in next to his partner. “Napoleon,” Illya said as he looked at his unexpected bedmate, “I am the one whose vision is impaired. This is not your bed.”

“Of course, it’s my bed. My bed, my room, my penthouse and _you,_ ” he said with a big smile as he poked the blonde’s shoulder for emphasis, “are my partner. That I am worried sick about. I want, no, I _need_ you to talk to me.”

Illya spread his hands on the covers. “I believe these sounds coming out of our mouths constitute talking.” His speaking voice was almost, but not quite back to normal.

“Don’t be coy with me, Kuryakin, you know what I mean!” Napoleon sat quietly for a few moments to rein in his temper. _Getting angry won’t help matters._

As if he could read Napoleon’s mind, Illya said, “You are angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you, Illya. If anything, I’m angry at the situation. I’m so sorry that I didn’t see that booby-trap five seconds sooner, I’m so sorry you got hurt so badly and I’m so sorry that I failed you.”

“You have not failed me.”

“I must have. Since Day One of our partnership, I’ve always stressed that we need to be honest with each other and let the other one know what’s on his mind, even those things we would or could never discuss with someone else. Yet, you haven’t talked to me since you got here even though I have asked you to tell me what’s on your mind. Excuse the bad joke, but it’s obvious to a blind man that you’re depressed about something and like you just said, _you’re_ the one with the vision problem. So please, Illya, talk to me. _Trust_ me. What has you so… _sad?_ ”

Illya removed the sunglasses, sighed deeply and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Napoleon was astonished to see unshed tears standing in them. “Lying in that hospital bed, unable to see or to hear, I thought _This will be my life, alone in the dark with no one to care_ and it scared me. It _scares_ me.”

“You’re not alone, Illya. I’m right here, like always. Why was this time different?”

“I, I do not know. But, it was. It is. I think, in some ways, the reality of my life slapped me in the face. Yes, you are here, Napoleon, and I know you do care about me, but there are no guarantees you will always _be_ here. A wife and children are no guarantees either that someone will care and take care of me, but the life I have chosen does not afford me the opportunity to obtain a family and if I had remained blind and deaf, I would have little to no chance of ever doing so. That thought terrified me.” A tear emerged and he swiped at it before it could get too far. “Do not pay me any attention, Napoleon. Apparently, I am the Guest of Honor at my very own Pity Party. You do not have to stay here and watch me wallow in it.” He was surprised when Napoleon moved close enough for their bodies to touch, wrapped an arm around him and pulled him until his head was resting on Napoleon’s chest.

“I’m your partner, Illya. I’m your friend and don’t let this go to your head, but I love you more than I love my _real_ brother. Talk to me, tell me everything about what you’re feeling. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

So Illya began to talk, hesitantly at first and then, in earnest. He told Napoleon all about his fears of abandonment, of physical disability, of losing April, everything. Two or three times, his emotions overwhelmed him and his tears flowed, but he was able to draw comfort from his partner who would wordlessly tighten his grip and rock them until the Russian could continue speaking. He talked until he was tired and still Napoleon was awake. “Thank you.”

Napoleon shifted so that he could look at his partner’s face. “For what, exactly?”

“For listening, for not judging me, for not falling asleep!” he laughed and Napoleon realized with a start that it was a sound he had not heard in a very long time. “Thank you for your friendship and love, they mean everything to me. You are truly the best person I know.” He was about to say something else, but an urge to yawn overtook him suddenly. His jaw opened wide and his eyes shut tight as he gave in to the impulse.

“Well, now that I’ve had a chance to look all the way down your throat to your intestines, I suggest that we both get some sleep.” Napoleon gently pushed Illya to the other side of the bed. “If you don’t mind, Partner, I’m just going to sack out here.” He positioned his pillow and punched it a couple of times before settling on it. “Just remember it’s me and not April. I don’t love you _that_ much!”

Three days later, Napoleon was once again sitting in on Dr. Jameson’s meeting with Mr. Waverly. This time, Dr. Francois, head of the Psych Unit, was also in attendance. The three men listened attentively as Napoleon described how Illya had finally divulged his feelings. Mr. Waverly had nodded his approval at his refusal to state _exactly_ what Illya had told him as he understood the importance of Illya knowing he could trust his partner. He had overruled the doctors when they demanded to know the details.

“Dr. Jameson, Dr. Francois, with all due respect, you wanted Mr. Kuryakin to open up to Mr. Solo because you both knew he wouldn’t talk to either of you. The only reason he finally did is because he _knows_ what he said won’t be repeated.”

“Exactly,” Napoleon agreed. “From the day we were partnered, I’ve drummed into his head that there are to be no secrets between us. None. And even with that, getting him to talk was like pulling teeth. What I need both of you to do now is trust my judgement, not as Illya’s friend, but as Chief Enforcement Agent. Part of my job is to determine if an agent is physically and mentally fit for duty. Section IIs want to serve. They will hide things from you if they think disclosure will keep them office bound. But I know my people and if I think there is an issue, I have no problem benching one. I will not cut Illya any slack just because he’s my partner. He’s due for a follow up in Medical in two days. You will see a marked improvement in his demeanor. He’ll be ready for the field soon.”

Two months later, Dr. Jameson, Napoleon, Slater Gray* and Illya were flying back to Manhattan in one of UNCLE’s choppers after Illya had passed his physical at the Local Proving Ground.*

“I hope, with all sincerity,” Dr. Jameson yelled over the sound of the spinning blades, “that you don’t have to go back to the Proving Ground anytime soon. I think you’ve been there more than any other Section II in the New York office.”

“Yeah,” Napoleon teased, “I was thinking of asking the Old Man to rename it ‘The Kuryakin Proving Ground.’”

The Russian rolled his eyes at the remark and shouted back at the doctor, “Are you clearing me to return to duty tomorrow?”

The physician shook his head. “Today is Wednesday. I’ll tell Mr. Waverly that you will report for work on Monday. Until then, get some rest.”

“’Get some rest,’” Illya mimicked as he sipped vodka on Napoleon’s terrace as the sky darkened as the sun set, “That is all I have been doing for months is resting. I am ready to get back to work.”

“Monday will get here soon enough, Tovarisch,” Napoleon replied as he joined his partner on the terrace with his own drink. “I’m happy that Mr. Waverly is letting me have the time off, too. We have to be in Bruges Tuesday morning and from there, who knows? Be grateful that you _can_ return to duty. I know I am.”

“I _am_ grateful, Napoleon. Grateful for the gift of sound and vision and grateful to have a friend who is also my brother and confidante. I am a lucky man.” He raised his glass and clicked it against his partner’s. “What are you making for dinner?”

“A phone call to Golden Dragon for delivery. Which you are paying for. Consider it my fee for taking care of you for weeks. And just so you know, I’m _starving_ so be prepared to shell out big bucks, Brother Mine.”

“Hmmm, maybe I am not as lucky as I thought.”

“Be quiet and get your wallet.”

 

*Slater Grey and the Local Proving Ground were introduced in my tale “Like a Phoenix from Ashes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you wonder sometimes  
>  'Bout sound and vision
> 
> Blue, blue, electric blue  
>  That's the colour of my room  
>  Where I will live  
>  Blue, blue
> 
> Pale blinds drawn all day  
>  Nothing to do, nothing to say  
>  Blue, blue
> 
> I will sit right down,   
>  Waiting for the gift of sound and vision  
>  And I will sing, waiting for the gift of sound and vision  
>  Drifting into my solitude,  
>  over my head
> 
> Don't you wonder sometimes  
>  'Bout sound and vision


End file.
